


(We Are) Sentimental Animals

by evil_bunny_king



Series: Of the Sun [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abora Lavellan, Early Relationship, F/M, Haven, Lethallin, No spoilers for the end game, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Lethallin.</i> </p><p>It had been years since she’d last heard the word, let alone used it. After so long among humans the elven was heavier than it should’ve been, almost clumsy in her mouth. That had disconcerted her, before.</p><p>She’d never made the choice to leave</p>
            </blockquote>





	(We Are) Sentimental Animals

_Lethallin._

The word caught in her throat, lingering there, and she rolled the letters on her tongue, tasting the syllables on her lips. The term was lovely in its elven form. She liked the way her voice lilted around it, reminding her of home, no matter where she wandered. A thread of family etched into the cadence of her speech.  
  
It had been years since she’d last heard the word, let alone used it. After so long among humans the elven was heavier than it should’ve been, almost clumsy in her mouth. That had disconcerted her, before.  
  
She’d never made the choice to leave.  
  
She’d left, yes - repeatedly, sometimes for months, occasionally for years, disappearing into the eclectic warrens of the human cities - but never without the certainty that it wasn’t for long, that she would, eventually, return. A scout’s purpose was defined by temporary absence – part of the clan whether they were physically present or not, as essential as any limb. A spy’s task was little different, she’d thought. If more diffuse in scale.

But then the years had stretched, taking her farther and farther from the forest and grove, and as each winter had returned to the aravels, she'd accompanied it less and less.

She’d done her work well - diligently, in fact, filtering information and coin back to the clan without fail, through contacts when she couldn’t make the journey herself. But by the time she’d departed for the human’s conclave it had been an age since she’d last let elven pass her lips, heard its caress against her ear. Lethallan, Lavellan – she’d wondered if she was losing herself, that if when the words were gone she, too, would be lost, forgotten in the mists of memory.  
  
But then came the breach, and everything had changed.  
  
_Her left hand curled instinctively in on itself, finger tips grazing the raised edges of the scar that burrowed under her skin, a line of warmth that beat with the stirring energy restrained within._  
  
After the conclave, things were – she was - different. No longer _da’mi_ , she became the herald; no longer spy she was living proof of the human's god, fixed in place by their revering, desperate eyes. She was ensnared in this developing disaster, bound to it by blood and magic, and her names and faces were sluiced from her until she was flayed wide open and raw, just a she-elf with obsidian daggers a hundred leagues from clan and home.  
  
And it was here, among the cramped hovels of a human hamlet, that elven fell from her lips once more.  
  
It had been such a simple thing, in the end. Remembering. And so easy to share with a man who seemed to delight in scorning her people every other breath, his face brazenly bare. Who had a sharp intelligence that was almost captivating, and a wisdom that spanned far beyond that which her clan had long struggled to preserve. The quiet thoughtfulness that layered his words, and the warmth tucked into smiles and unhesitant ripostes – before long she was seeking him out during Haven’s snow-smothered evenings, drawn by the promise of comfortable familiarity. He was unabashed in his individuality, so unique from any elf she’d known. She found herself matching his assurance, adapting to her stripped-down skin, the sweetness of elven singing in her ears once more.  
  
She'd always thought that it would be the loss of her mother-tongue that would finally sever her away from the clan. That her sense of home, family, would fray with each forgotten word, until all she was left with was the harshness of common speech and the hollow of a name.  
  
But as she trudged with Solas through bracken and slurried bog waters, engaging in parsings of Elven songs and sayings – tonguing _lethallin_ around her mouth for _him_ , an elf who eschewed her people entirely - she realised that she'd been wrong.  
  
Fluent or a flat ear, it had all been irrelevant in the end. Robbed of her purpose, of all contact home, and submerged, even _thriving,_ in this so-human world, she had left her clan as surely as if she'd forsaken it; perhaps had already done so, even before the explosion had so thoroughly obliterated the last of her ties.

A severed limb discarded on a mountainside, twitching in the bones and ash of worshipers sacrificed for false gods.

 _Lethallin_.

At least she was not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> The song ['Trustful Hands'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8RO_nDq1NU) by _The Do_ suits this part of the relationship so perfectly, I really recommend a listen. The title for this ficlet is a lyric drawn from it - I really love the line, and it does effectively sum this little drabble up. 
> 
> In other news I have a very specific one-shot style, have you figured that out yet? xD Felt really good to write this, btw, a break from thesis despair. The next one will probably be another interaction rather than just an introspection. I've a hankering for arguments, road trips and heated kisses. :3


End file.
